


Remember the Pact of Our Youth

by ArthurianScribe



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Young Justice - All Media Types
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Conner Kent is in over his head but he tries his best, Depressed Tim Drake, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, It's my canon now, Kon-El | Conner Kent is Superboy, Pre-New 52, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicidal Tim Drake, Tim Drake Gets a Hug, Tim Drake Has Abandonment Issues, Tim Drake Has Mental Health Issues, Tim Drake Has a Bad Time, Tim Drake Needs Help, Tim Drake Needs a Hug, Tim Drake is Not Okay, Tim Drake is Red Robin, Tim Drake-centric, could be read as TimKon but not explict, jack and janet drakes a+ parenting, no beta we die like robins, please keep yourself safe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-19
Updated: 2021-03-19
Packaged: 2021-03-28 21:47:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30146076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArthurianScribe/pseuds/ArthurianScribe
Summary: Tim hasn't been okay for a while and things get dark quickly. Luckily he has people in his life that aren't letting him go without a fight.
Relationships: Tim Drake & Kon-El | Conner Kent
Comments: 10
Kudos: 130





	Remember the Pact of Our Youth

**Author's Note:**

> takes place sometime after Bruce's return from the timestream. Content warning for suicidal thoughts, negative self-talk, and depression. Keep yourselves safe guys. Make sure you're in a safe headspace for this.

It had started harmlessly enough. He had been answering emails for Wayne Enterprises on his civilian laptop, only to realize that not only was the battery dangerously low but that his charger had picked now of all times to quit working entirely. 

Going to pick up a new one at —he checked his watch— nine at night as a civilian would likely be fruitless in addition to incredibly dangerous, but he really did not want to have to wait until morning to replace it. His stressing was abruptly cut off, however, when he remembered that he had stashed away the charger that came with his last laptop. He was pretty sure that one would be compatible. He had immediately saved what he was working on and gone to his living room to search through the closet Where Things Go to Die.

That was his first mistake.

As the name suggested, the closet had ended up as a sort of repository for all those things that he wasn’t about to throw out but didn’t need easy access to. Some of these things were practical, things he didn’t need now but that were still perfectly functional and _could_ end up being helpful later, like the laptop charger or the five spare flashlights he didn’t remember buying. Others were more sentimental and went into the closet because he was pretty sure it was illegal to throw them away but that he didn’t look at very often, such as his old yearbooks.

Then there were other things. Things that hurt to look at but would also hurt just as much to throw out, as if he was tossing away who and what they represented. Things like the box with his grandmother’s menorah, the one his mother showed him how to light back in the days when they still did things like that together. Things like his first Robin mask or the last photo he had with the Titans before everyone started dying. Things like his dad’s gun.

Tim hadn’t been looking for the gun, really. He had been sorting through the chaos and accidentally upended one of the more precarious stacks of junk. It was only the years of vigilante training that enabled him to quickly stabilize the tower and catch the shoebox that slid off the top a split second before it hit the floor. It just… it was _that_ box.

Once it was in his hands, he knew immediately that nothing good would come of opening the box. There was a reason it was covered in a thick coating of dust. A reason it had sat undisturbed in the closet for so long. Every other time he had come across it when he went in the closet, he had been able to push it out of his mind, the same way he pushed away the memories it brought with it.

Not the night his dad died. That gun was probably sitting in an evidence locker somewhere. No, this was the gun his dad had waved in the Batman’s face, the first time he had lost the robin mantle.

Tim barely noticed himself sliding to the floor, the box resting on his crossed legs as he lost himself in thought. He remembered that night in snippets. In emotions rather than as a conscious narrative. There was the shock and shame at realizing he was caught. There was the strange mix of hope that maybe his father’s fury meant that he really did care about Tim (and that maybe his dad would be the dad he had promised to be now) and the resentment that Jack had abandoned him to his own devices for so long and only now decided to give a shit.

And the fear of course.

There was fear that his dad would tell someone. Fear that Jack would hurt Bruce or Alfred or Dick. Maybe even a little fear that he would hurt Tim. But when his dad told Bruce that Tim wasn’t Bruce’s kid, that he should never have made him Robin, there was a part of Tim deep down that was terrified that Bruce would agree, that Tim’s best still hadn’t been enough. Maybe that was why he had quit before Bruce had the opportunity to come to his senses.

And that thought opened a whole other can of worms Tim was usually so careful to keep bottled up. Memories of coming home from boarding school for vacation weeks only to find that his parents had changed their travel plans without telling him. Memories of working his ass off day in and day out, trying to prove that he could be Robin. Knowing he wasn’t wanted but determined to be useful anyway.

He remembered when his dad told him that things would be different, and Tim just kept _falling for it_ no matter how many times he let him down. No matter how much of himself Tim crushed or cut out to make himself fit someone else’s image of perfection so that he could finally be _enough_ for someone _._ For anyone. It still didn’t stop him from being cast aside when something more interesting came along.

Tim made himself take a deep breath, and then, when that didn’t stop the treacherous tightening in his throat, he took another. As his trembling fingers lifted the lid with a disturbing amount of reverence, Tim wasn’t sure what made today different. It wasn’t an anniversary. It hadn’t been that bad a week. It had been at least a month since the last big disaster.

Maybe the years and years and years alone in an empty house had finally caught up with him.

Maybe it was how determined Bruce had been to keep Tim at an emotional arm’s distance in the early days.

Maybe it was losing his dad, losing Dana, losing Steph, losing Bart and Conner, and then losing _Bruce._ How he had had no time to recover from one loss before being hit by another.

Maybe it was losing Robin, the last stable thing he had had in his life. After working so hard to earn Robin, to earn the right to belong in this weird hodge-podge family, this symbol that had somehow become tied to his identity, his very worth as a person, had been ripped from him and given to someone who had made it very clear that he also thought Tim was worthless.

Maybe it was Paris. The nightmares he still got where Cass was just a few minutes later, or worse, where she didn’t come at all and he didn’t know why. Maybe it was the terror of what would happen if Ra’s ever got his hands on Tim again.

Maybe it was how _disappointed_ Bruce and Dick had been after the Boomerang-fiasco. He had never wanted to lose Bruce’s esteem but here finally was that fuck up that made Bruce look at Tim the way everyone looked at him eventually, when he inevitably failed to live up to expectations and showed his true colors.

Maybe it was how the pit in his stomach that never really left anymore just _ached_ all the time.

Maybe it was how no matter how hard he worked there was always another case or another mission or another board meeting.

Maybe it was how he felt separate, like an actor in a play, even when with his closest friends and family.

Maybe it was how goddamn _exhausted_ he stayed, no matter how much sleep he got, when he got any sleep at all.

If he was being honest with himself, it was probably a mixture of all of the above finally bringing him to the point where he just couldn’t take it anymore. He was just so _tired_.

Regardless of the reason, it was today that had Tim pulling the gun out of the box. He felt weirdly numb as he gave the revolver’s cylinder a test spin. He could feel the oddly reassuring weight of it in his hands, but the chilly bite the metal should have had was nowhere to be found.

Tim didn’t remember loading the gun either. One minute the bullets were rattling around the box with each of his shuddered breaths, and the next, he was absently spinning the chamber of a fully loaded revolver.

Tim was no stranger to suicidal ideation. He had talked enough jumpers off of rooftops to know how to identify it. And he’d dealt with it at varying levels since long before he became Robin. Normally it was mild enough he could fight it, or there was someone there to pull him out of his head. But right now, Tim was alone, and he was tired of fighting.

For the first time in a long time, Tim let himself consider what would happen if he pulled the trigger. He knew it would hurt his family, and that was usually how he talked himself out of it. But Bruce was back and on relatively good terms with everyone else. Cass was the most independent of any of them, and he and Steph hadn’t been good for each other in a while. They would survive it, and Batman would still have a Robin.

And he wasn’t in costume or even in the vigilante section of the Nest. If he did it now, it wouldn’t immediately blow the family secret, and would probably give the Bats enough time after the identification to find a way to avoid a problematic autopsy.

They didn’t _need_ him to stick around. If this family had taught him anything, it was how good they all were at stepping into abandoned roles.

Tim didn’t want to die per se, but he did want everything to just _stop_ for once before it had a chance to all go wrong again.

He didn’t realize he had made a decision until his arm’s rise to his temple was interrupted by the sudden vibrating of his phone.

If Alfred had been around, Tim would have felt guilty about how loudly he yelled “Fuck!” into the dead silence of his living room. Although, he thought darkly, if Alfred had been around, Tim probably would have been doing something very different anyway.

Tim was jerked out of his musings again when his phone continued vibrating and just kept going. He stood and pulled it from his pocket unthinkingly, planning on just tossing it aside. Whatever the bats needed, they could wait. But as he caught a glimpse of the screen out of the corner of his eye, he was surprised to see that the eight new messages were from the group chat Bart had set up for their group of four. It was usually just a messy combination of memes or poking fun at each other or other heroes. He didn’t bother checking what it was this time or who had started it, but he did see that the most recent message was from Conner.

_Hey Tim ya gonna back me up here or what?_

His phone buzzed again in his hand. Another new message from Conner.

_Tiiiiiiiiiiiiiiim Cassie’s bullying me!_

Practically as soon as he’d finished reading it, his phone started buzzing again. No doubt Cassie responding to Conner, maybe even trying to recruit Tim to her side of whatever they were bickering about this time. Tim didn’t know because he couldn’t see past the traitorous tears that had welled up against his will.

Blinking them away and pretending not to notice when one escaped down his cheek, Tim unlocked his phone and was pulling up Conner’s contact before he could change his mind again.

_Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiinnnnnnnngggggggg._

The ringing of the phone was like a bucket of ice water dumped over him and shocked Tim out of the weird fog he’d been stuck in. What had he been thinking? He wasn’t really going to— He wouldn’t! That couldn’t have just happened.

_Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiinnnnnnnngggggggg._

But it had. Tim was going to— He remembered what a mess he’d been when Conner had died, and he’d been about to do the same thing to him. On purpose, even, surely that had to be worse.

_Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiinnnnnnnngggggggg._

Oh god, Tim really was a monster, wasn’t he? Maybe he’d had it right the first time. Maybe he shou—

_Riiiiiiiiiii—_

“Hey, sorry dude, Ma had me taking out the trash. What’s up?” And if Tim weren’t already crying, he would have started right then at how normal Conner’s voice sounded. That was the voice of Titan’s weekends, of nights when neither of them could sleep, and they stayed up for hours talking about everything and anything. That was the voice that said, “You’re _my_ Robin” when everyone else moved on without question. That was the voice of someone who had never once let Tim down. Not in the ways that mattered.

And that was why Tim found the ability to pull himself together with a shuddering breath long enough to say, “I think I need help.” In his mind’s eye, Tim could _see_ Conner make the seamless transition from civilian to Superboy.

“Where are you? What’s going on?” There was a rustling sound as if Conner was jostling the phone around as he changed into his uniform.

Tim knew exactly what expression Conner would be wearing to match that all-business tone as he stormed out of the Kents’ house, ready to save Tim from the bad guys, whoever they were this time. And even as it healed something inside him to hear the instant offer of support, it broke something else in Tim to know he was about to break his best friend’s heart.

“I— um, I…” Tim squeezed his eyes shut as if not being able to see would make this any less painful.

“Tim! Tim, are you hurt?! What’s happening?!”

“I’m not hurt, I promise, I just…”

This was his last opportunity to back out. Once he said the words, it would change everything, he knew. But before he could dredge up the courage, Conner came back with a soft “Tim?” that, while hesitant, as if afraid of frightening Tim off, also packed so. much. concern. And that was what let Tim take the plunge.

“I found my dad’s gun, and I think I want to shoot myself.” His shaking voice was met by a heavy silence. After a couple of seconds, Tim found himself checking the screen to make sure he hadn’t hung up by accident. The call was still active. Just as he was starting to think that he had ruined everything, that he shouldn’t have called, he heard the telltale _boom_ of a broken sound barrier, and the labored breaths coming through the phone were duplicated right in front of him.

Tim let go of the phone but not the gun as he dropped his face into his hands rather than make eye contact with Conner. He didn’t think his heart had ever beat so fast without fear toxin being involved.

The action did not go unmissed. Conner took a hesitant step closer but stopped when Tim’s whole body stiffened reflexively.

“Hey buddy…” he soothed. “Can you look at me, Tim?”

Tim shook his head. He definitely could not do that right now. Conner was undeterred. “Okay! Okay, that’s fine.” Conner’s voice was tighter than Tim had ever heard it. “How about you give me the gun then?” Afraid of giving himself time to change his mind again, Tim hardly hesitated to unceremoniously shove the gun in Conner’s direction, not really giving a damn about the gun safety rules Bruce had drilled into his head when the only other person around was literally bulletproof.

The Boy of Steel or not, Conner’s grip was feather-light as he gently pulled the proffered gun out of Tim’s hand. Tim took the opportunity to return his hand to where the other was still shielding his face from view.

“Okay… Okay, thank you, Tim.” The bullets clinked against each other in Conner’s hand as he unloaded the revolver. There was a crunching sound, and Tim glanced up reflexively to see the crumpled yellow mass of what used to be the bullets fall from Conner’s fist.

The short glance was enough to tell Tim he had been right not to look. Conner looked as terrified as Tim felt, and it made him feel awful.

Too busy catching his breath now that the gun, carefully set aside, was out of play, Conner didn’t notice Tim looking right away. When he did catch his eye he froze, one hand halfway through its run through his hair. Tim just stared back like a deer in headlights. It was no surprise when Conner recovered first.

“Can— Can I touch you?” His gaze was piercing, and Tim found himself having to swallow against the lump in his throat before he nodded again. Immediately, he found himself pressed up against his best friend’s chest. One of Conner’s hands cradled the back of his head, and the other arm squeezed Tim like Conner was afraid he’d make a run for it. He wouldn’t. Maybe someone else would have viewed the hold as confining, but Tim just felt safe. Safer than he’d felt in forever.

“You’re shaking,” Conner whispered into Tim’s hair. Huh, he was, wasn’t he? Conner pulled back just enough to be able to look Tim in the face. His voice sounded scratchy when he spoke again. “I don’t understand. Why would you— _Please_ , help me understand, Tim.” And the desperation in his voice shattered what was left of Tim’s composure as he burst into tears, and his knees gave out beneath him.

Conner was as steady as a rock as he lowered them both to the floor, pulling Tim into his lap as he went. Tim, boneless in his grief, barely noticed as Conner began to rock them both back and forth, murmuring reassurances into Tim’s ear. “I’m here….let it out…it’s alright…I’m here…”

Tim cried until he didn’t think there was any water left in his body. He leaned his face further into Conner’s chest as he calmed down. “I’m so scared, Conner.” Conner gave an encouraging _hmm_ to show he was listening. “I don’t want to _be here anymore_ , and I’m so fucking scared, Conner.” Conner let out a wounded noise and tightened his grip involuntarily as if to remind himself that Tim was still there.

“I don’t want to die, I don’t!” Tim wailed. “But I don’t want to live anymore either, and that scares me so bad. It wasn’t even planned but I found the gun and all of a sudden I had it against my head, and if I hadn’t been distracted by those texts, I would have done it _and I don’t know what to do.”_ And then he was crying again. God, he was going to be so dehydrated in the morning.

Conner never stopped his rocking, never stopped running his hand in soothing circles against Tim’s back. And he let Tim spill everything. Every wound, every trauma, every self-loathing thought that had been going through his head, that Tim had been too ashamed to mention before. And he listened. He didn’t try to argue or defend. He just let Tim get it out of his system and didn’t interrupt once.

When Tim had finally run out of poisoned words to spew, Conner still didn’t speak right away. He took a minute to gather his thoughts, and then took a breath so deep Tim worried idly that he might hurt himself.

“Okay, first of all, you are not allowed to leave me. Do you hear me?” Tim shot a watery half-smile at Conner that apparently failed to be reassuring. “I’m serious, Tim. I know you don’t like you very much right now, but I love you. Bart loves you. Cassie loves you. And whether you believe it or not, your family loves you. And you’re not allowed to leave, okay.” Conner may not have been using x-ray vision, but it didn’t make his gaze any less piercing.

“And I know you’re scared of what’s going to happen now and of yourself, I get that, I do. But you’re not alone either, and I promise that you’re safe with me, even if that means keeping you safe from yourself. Got it?” Tim nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

“Good,” he paused as if trying to decide how to phrase what he said next. Tim tried not to let the hesitation make him nervous, but if the fondly amused smirk Conner sent him was any indication, his heartrate probably gave him away. However, the smile quickly fell back into something more serious.

“I think… I think we also need to bring an adult into this situation because I don’t think either of us has had any training for how to handle this sort of thing _after_ you get them off the ledge.” Tim huffed in agreement. “I don’t care if it’s Bruce, or Dick, or Alfred, or even if it’s Clark, but I think we’re going to need back-up here.”

Tim didn’t want anyone else to know. If he weren’t so emotionally exhausted right now, he would be feeling the embarrassment of Conner knowing creeping in. But he also knew Conner had a point, and he was still unsettled enough by how close he had come to disaster to be willing to do just about anything Conner asked.

“If I told Bruce… would you come with me?” he asked, pushing down the part of himself that was already reprimanding him for his selfish request.

Conner was already nodding though. “I literally just promised to have your back dude. I’m not about to quit on you now. Besides,” he grimaced, “I’m sure Batman is already just dying to talk to me about breaking the sound barrier in his city.”

Tim barked out a startled laugh. “Yeah, Batman may not kill, but it’s probably best I’m there to keep him from testing out his new Kryptonite stash anyway.”

Conner narrowed his eyes at Tim in mock suspicion. “I’m pretty sure you’re fucking with me, but I honestly can’t tell for sure.”

Tim gave a sharklike grin. “That’s for me to know and you to hope you never find out.”

Then it was Conner’s turn to laugh and before they knew it, they had both dissolved into hysterical giggles. Tim could almost pretend that everything was fine, that his best friend hadn’t been pulling a loaded gun out of his hand not even hours ago.

But eventually, the laughs petered out, and the moment of levity had passed. Tim let his head thump back against Conner’s chest, suddenly too tired to hold it up. Conner rested his cheek back against the crown of his head. Eventually, Tim felt himself start to drift off to sleep.

“Thank you for answering the phone,” Tim murmured into Conner’s shirt.

“Thank you for not pulling the trigger,” Conner whispered into Tim’s hair.

**Author's Note:**

> had this idea rattling around in my head, and it was project your trauma onto Tim Drake hours so this happened. (also I'm pretty sure conner's not that fast, but this is my story so canon can go fuck itself).
> 
> If you find yourself feeling the way Tim does, please get help. I speak from experience that it does get better if you let it. It's not easy but there are people out there who make it worth it, even if you haven't met them yet. 
> 
> Suicide Prevention Hotline (USA): 800-273-8255


End file.
